Something The Soul Needs
by Sargent Muffdog
Summary: Okay this doesn't actually have anything to do with Doctor Who but I still can't get my head around Livejournal and I wanted to know if this made any sense. I guess if you try hard enough it could be AU Doctor/Rose with maybe Mickey? I dunno. Enjoy anyway :)


_**Author's note:** _As the description says it is a 10/Rose fic but only if you squint really hard. Please review and tell me if this doesn't make sense of where any mistakes are. Thank you

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Something The Soul Needs

He smells like musk and spice and cigarettes in the rain. Of ego and money and success. Of concepts and ideologies and something she dares to call home. She will always run to where he is. To a tiny haven disguised as ordinary brick and timber. To warm arms and warm tea to match. It should, she thinks, be wrong to feel safe in a place of solitude not her own. But she doesn't have one, so she will borrow his and hope he doesn't mind. The weight around her waist and the breath on her neck makes her think he doesn't.

In another room in another building another sleeps. He dreams of what he perceives to be love when it is in fact, an infatuation. An illusion of meaningful emotion. Weaving memories from the past into a future only he believes will happen. He is feeding his false hope while starving his stomach like rations wasted on one last meal for a pitiful romantic . Still he gorges. He ravages and devours it like the famished man he is. Letting his ripped soul and splintered heart feast while his body withers away. Only when he thinks she cries because of it will he wake and swallow his dinner.

But this is what she does. She takes people: innocent, clean people and she stains them. Paints them red when they were once pure white. She causes silent rivalries between best friends then acts surprised when war is declared. She played with the boy who dreams. Told him he couldn't keep her then acted like she was his. Made him believe then ran when he got too close and left him ripped and splintered, broken and withered and starving. She tries to justify it. Says he knew she could never belong to him, that she could never stay in one place. He says he'd just go with her. She doesn't know how to reply to that.

She watches from a distance as the dreamer turns to dust and bone and tries to stop him with tales of tears, even though she melts through him like she is fire and he is ice and, in a way, she supposes they are. She is unstable and uprooted and all she wants is to feel. She torches the world until she meets her maker. Flame on flame now and this, she thinks, is better. With this she'll only get burnt and she is already on fire. She discovers his scent. The one of musk and concepts and ego and lets it cradle her, lets his spark be her night-light. Only his blaze is different to her. His is smoke and warmth and beauty. Hers is cold and ash and cinders. Hers is the kind that destroys while his is the kind that ignites. His is red when hers is blue. Perhaps that's good, maybe they'll complete each other. They rehearsed a secret play that was preformed when the lights went out. They sit under stars that burnt brighter than they ever could and take peace in that thought - other things could destroy more than they could. But a battle is brewing under the surface and he starts to worry. The ice is melting and the fire is not helping as the dreamer wilts away and the smoker starts to worry he is the cause.

So in the midst of problems she knows she created, she stands. She has always been the solver. The control and the advisor. But her control is slipping and she has become the one causing the problem. She must fix what she has broken with more than Sellotape and glue because the dreamer keeps dreaming, the smoker keeps smoking and her world is still burning and she fears it will turn to ashes before she can rebuild it. Yet she is the one setting it alight. So she takes a step back. Keeps her distance. Settles their minds like she usually would if this was a nightmare caused by anyone but her. And when his scent mingles with one more suited than her own, when the dreamer eats for something other than her pleas, she will tell herself the feeling of emptiness is not because she let herself get close. She saved them both, she tells herself, she fixed their problems.

She isn't convinced.

She will pretend she isn't losing her mind. She will hold the colours and feel the sounds and smile a smile powered by chemicals and borrowed happiness. After all she helped create their joy, why can't she steal it?

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Well, there you go. So does it make any sense at all?


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